


i'm everything you can't control

by endlessnighttimesky



Series: broken pieces [2]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Car Sex, Concerts, Established Relationship, Implied Self-Harm, M/M, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:13:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnighttimesky/pseuds/endlessnighttimesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard loses Frank in the moshpit by the end of the second song, but it’s okay. He’s perfectly content with staying by the bar, sipping on his Coke and as he watches people run into each other in the pit. He catches glimpses of Frank a few times as the band goes through their set, his wide smile and bright eyes directed right at Gerard, before he turns away to collide with whoever is closest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm everything you can't control

**Author's Note:**

> This is... porn, basically. I guess it's been a while since I've done that (like, forever). Either way, prepare for some porn, and what's probably the strangest, most ridiculous post-sex conversation in the history of humanity. I don't know what happened there, really.

The club is a mess of stale smoke and grinding bodies, the sharp tang of alcohol hanging thick in the air. The lights have already gone out and something heavy is being blasted over the sound system while the band sets up onstage, already sweating under the spotlights.

They go to the bar first, Frank pulling Gerard along through the crowd with three fingers hooked over the waistband of his jeans, because putting your finger through someone’s belt loop in a crowd like this is just fucking stupid. He learned that the hard way – his left index finger is still a little crooked.

Frank orders them both Cokes, because Gerard’s sober now and Frank simply doesn’t want to get drunk. He’s high enough as it is, on adrenaline and the feeling of having Gerard close, pressed up against his back as Frank leans over the bar to shout their orders in the bartender’s ear.

Once the band’s gear is all set up, the music in the speakers fades and is replaced by drums, loud and throbbing in Gerard’s ears. The bass vibrates against his sternum, echoing in his ribcage and filling his skull, raw guitars shaking him to the bone. Then there’s a voice, high-pitched and scratchy, belting out obscenities that the crowd throws right back at the stage.

Gerard loses Frank in the moshpit by the end of the second song, but it’s okay. He’s perfectly content with staying by the bar, sipping on his Coke and as he watches people run into each other in the pit. He catches glimpses of Frank a few times as the band goes through their set, his wide smile and bright eyes directed right at Gerard, before he turns away to collide with whoever is closest.

“You look like shit,” Gerard says once the band starts packing up and Frank emerges from the pit, sporting the beginning of what will inevitably be an epic black eye by tomorrow morning. People gotta start minding their elbows, seriously.

Frank’s grinning like a maniac, though, even as he clutches as his jaw and pulls at it as if someone knocked it out of place. He’s flustered, red-cheeked and gorgeous, damp hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and eyes alight, bright even in the darkness.

“I’ll feel like it tomorrow too, I’m sure,” Frank says, fingertips dipping below the waistband of Gerard’s jeans again, pulling him closer.

Gerard dips his head down to mouth at Frank’s jaw, nipping and licking at the salty skin. Recognizing the tone of utter euphoria in Frank’s voice, he says, “But that’s tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Frank mumbles, pulling back a little so he can look up into Gerard’s eyes before he kisses him. “That’s tomorrow.”

They make out against the bar until someone shoves them aside, and they take that as their cue to go outside. The street is practically empty, the people who were just here for the show having already gone home and the ones who are here to drink still inside. If it weren’t for the noise coming from inside the club, it could almost be called eerie.

Gerard feels a little like he should’ve expected it when Frank opens the door to the backseat, turning Gerard around and pushing him inside until he’s flat on his back with Frank on top of him, Frank’s left leg bent at the knee and his right foot on the floor.

“Fuck, Frank, here?” Gerard can’t help but ask, because Frank’s never been big on public sex. Then again, he’s never been big on waiting, either, and Gerard knows from experience that adrenaline makes him horny. Or maybe it’s just because he’s got the evidence pressed against his thigh, hard and hot.

“Don’t wanna end up in a ditch,” Frank mumbles, mouth warm and wet against Gerard’s neck. “Or in jail. I’m pretty sure getting your dick sucked while behind the wheel counts as reckless driving.”

“So you don’t wanna find out, then?” Gerard asks, voice a little breathy now, as he slides his hands up the back of Frank’s shirt, palming at the sticky skin there.

“Nah,” Frank says, slithering down Gerard’s body while his hands make quick work of Gerard’s jeans and underwear, pushing them down his scarred thighs. “I’d prefer keeping you all to myself."

When Gerard moans, he doesn’t know if it’s because of Frank’s words or the fact that his mouth is now wrapped around his dick, tight and wet. A combination of both, probably.

“Shit, Frankie,” he says, hands trailing down to tangle in Frank’s hair, fingers wrapping tight around the strands and eliciting a moan from Frank that vibrates around Gerard cock, sending shivers up his spine. “God.”

“It’s Frank,” Frank pulls off to say, lips curling into a smirk just above the head of Gerard’s dick.

“Suck my fucking dick, then, _Frank_ ,” Gerard grits out, and he can't even make himself care that Frank's hands are rubbing over his scars, because Frank is the biggest fucking tease ever and Gerard just wants his cock sucked, now, yes, _please_.

Frank just grins again and does a little salute, which would be totally lame if it wasn’t for him taking Gerard’s entire cock in his mouth three seconds later. He sucks like his life depends on it, spit collecting in his mouth, making everything wetter and slicker. He’s got a hand wrapped around the part of Gerard’s dick that he can’t reach, lips meeting the tight ring of his fingers on every bob of his head.

Gerard wants to tell Frank how fucking obscene he looks – still sweaty and flushed from the show, red lips tight around his cock like that, cheeks hollowed – but all he manages are choked-off moans and a litany of curses. He’s worthless enough with words as it is – no one can really expect him to be coherent when he’s got Frank between his legs.

Frank, however, is apparently very alert to his surroundings, because just as Gerard’s hips start bucking up, he pulls off, mouth out of reach for Gerard’s dick.

“No – no, no, no, no, _no_ ,” Gerard chants, “Frankie, I was just about – Frankie, fuck, God, don’t – ”

“How eloquent,” Frank grins, settling back on Gerard’s hips. “But, yeah, I know. Wanna fuck first, though, so you’ll have to wait.”

“Ugh,” Gerard says. Fuck Frank and his fucking eloquence.

“That’s the plan, yes,” Frank says, because of _course_ Gerard had to say that out loud, of course he did. Fuck his fucking brain. It’s fucking worthless in situations like these. Fucking Frank and his fucking mouth. _Fuck_.

“I’m on it, _God_. You men, always so impatient,” Frank mock-scolds. Then he produces a sachet of lube out of nowhere, but Gerard is past caring, so he just lets Frank dribble it over his fingers before reaching between Frank’s legs to prep him, not even bothering with trying to figure out how and when Frank got his pants off.

“Mm, fuck,” Frank sighs, sinking down on two of Gerard’s fingers right from the start, relishing the burn, the stretch. He lets Gerard scissor them a few times before asking for another, his request almost lost between the moans he can't seem to suppress.

“C’mere,” Gerard says, lifting one arm to tug at Frank’s shoulder. Frank leans down, pressing his lips to Gerard's and probably slobbering all over him, but it’s not like it matters, or that either of them even care.

“Ready,” Frank says after another minute or two of Gerard working his fingers into him, “Fuck, ‘m ready, come on, put it in me.”

“Always such a romantic,” Gerard says, trying not to shudder too violently as Frank rolls a condom down his dick. Then Frank is towering over him, up on his knees, and Gerard is lining up and pushing in, ever so slowly. Frank doesn’t want to wait, though – he’s been waiting ever since they arrived the club, for fuck’s sake – so once Gerard’s halfway in, he just sits down, making Gerard choke on a gasp.

“ _Frank_ ,” he says heatedly, pulling at Frank’s t-shirt, because it needs to come off, _now_ , he needs to see, needs to touch. “Get – off, get it off, Frank – ”

“Yeah, yeah,” Frank breathes, yanking the fabric over his head. He lets Gerard pull him down, lets him touch and kiss and bite, rock up into him, quicker and harder every time.

In the end, Frank just can’t take it, so he leans back again, one hand planted behind him and the other one wrapped around his dick as he just _goes_ for it, riding Gerard like there’s no tomorrow. It’s hard and fast and not graceful at all, but neither of them cares. They just want to get off, together, and then snuggle and maybe share a post-coital cigarette. The rest they can deal with later.

So, when Frank clenches a final time around Gerard, shooting all over his t-shirt but not caring the least, Gerard isn’t slow to follow, thrusting up into Frank and staying there as his orgasm rolls through him, heavy waves of heat reaching all the way to his fingertips and toes.

“God,” he moans, gasping both at the displacement of air as Frank falls down on his chest and the shivers traveling up his spine as Frank pulls off.

“I told you, it’s Frank,” Frank says, grinning into the side of Gerard’s neck before looking down their chests. “I don’t think God would get come all over your shirt and then lie down in it.”

“Probably not,” Gerard says. “I don’t think he’s so big on car sex, either.”

“Which is why I’m not Catholic anymore,” Frank mumbles, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. “Worshipping you is much nicer. God doesn’t give me orgasms.”

“I knew it,” Gerard says. “You just love me for my dick.”

“In my defense,” Frank says, petting Gerard’s side and smiling, “it’s a nice dick. Divine, even. Heavenly. Maybe your dick _is_ God. Does that make me Jesus?”

“You’re not my son.”

“No, but, Jesus and God were buddies, right? Besties. Father and son, maybe, but still friends. And I consider myself best friends with your dick. So there’s that.”

Gerard just looks at Frank and smiles, having a hard time concentrating on what’s probably the weirdest post-sex conversation ever when Frank’s so close, all soft and warm, pliant in Gerard’s arms.

“What?” Frank asks when Gerard doesn’t say anything.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” Gerard says and kisses Frank’s forehead.

Frank grins, snuggling closer and mouthing at Gerard’s neck. “Totally. You love me, though.”

“Yeah,” Gerard says, and he’s still smiling when he leans down to kiss Frank, tasting salt and sweat but also something sweet, sugary. The remnants of the Coke, maybe. “I totally do.”


End file.
